Ghost
by WinchesterPhantom
Summary: A single phone call can change everything and suddenly James Bond is chasing after a ghost, a memory and possibly, his future. VesperJames -postQoS–
1. Part I

**Ghost**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own James Bond currently.

**Summary:** A single phone call can change everything and suddenly James is chasing after a ghost, a memory and possibly, his future. VesperJames –post QoS–

**Author's Note:** This fic has been in my mind and now that I have time to finally sit down and write...well I'm going for it. Please note in this I do reference a bit of Bond's backstory so any names you are unsure about I suggest you check out Wikipedia – it has some great links. Any advice in regards to characters and plot and so forth would be greatly appreciated. Note that this hasn't been beta'd.

Also there is a bit of Italian spoken in here but the translations are beside it so you can read it in English. Hopefully it's translated correctly.

-

The bottle of whiskey was half empty.

Or half full if you wanted to be an optimist.

James generally tried to be an optimist. It was the one thing that kept him from going off the deep end – especially these days. So what if men were trying to shoot him or that his boss was trying to murder him or if he had no family or the fact that the love of his life had betrayed him – who really gives a damn?

As an optimist he reasoned that he could just shoot back at the men, that his boss didn't really mean half the shit she said, that every single day people were losing their family because of war, disease and him, and really there are plenty of women out there – plenty. It wasn't like he was the only man who had had his heart ripped to shreds in a matter of moments.

But today, as he lay sprawled across his expensive Egyptian cotton sheets on his king-sized bed, the sound of his neighbours partying seeping through the wall in his small apartment, he was in the half empty train of thought.

He gazed at the whiskey bottle in his hand and sighed, raising the bottle into the air watching the moonlight bend within the bottle. He wanted another sip but decided that dying by alcohol poisoning really wasn't a smart idea since M would probably just bring him back to life to kill him again. With another sip he knew he'd just drain the rest and go and find some more and wouldn't stop.

He held the bottle over the edge of bed and let go. The bottle made a large thud and James had to wonder if Carpet Cleaners worked on Boxing Day. He seriously doubted it. Swearing he sat up, rubbing his temples as his head throbbed. He reached over to his bedside table, knocking over a few books as he searched for his lamp.

Switching it on he blinked rapidly as the light seemed to burn his eyes, the pounding in his head increasing.

"Fuck."

He quickly switched off the light and slumped back onto his bed. Screw the bloody carpet – screw it all to her. He rolled onto his side, closing his eyes, listening to the crappy Christmas carols his neighbours were singing.

Dicks.

It wasn't enough that every single TV Channel heavily endorsed the commercial piece of crap but did his god damn neighbours have to be so jovially about it. He almost wished Mr. Freeman was still alive – he had never been one to celebrate the holidays which suited James fine.

He didn't want to be a Grinch but when every single television network was going on about family and friends...it just got to him. He hadn't had a real family to celebrate the holiday in so long. Not after his parents – no he wasn't going to think about it, about them. Even Charmaine, his aunt, who had raised him since the 'accident' had never been a Christmassy type.

He sat up, searching in the dark room for the whiskey. He needed that god damn whiskey. His hands soon found it and swirled the liquid around, grinning. It hadn't all spilled out. He held it up to his lips and sculled it. He placed the bottle down and took in a few deep breathes. He blinked a few times and groaned.

The singing was still going on next door and he couldn't help but wonder when the fucks were all going home. He wasn't sure how he'd outlast tomorrow. He stumbled out of bed, walking blindly in the dark towards his curtains. As he reached them suddenly his phone went off, the ringing echoing in his head.

"Who freakin' calls at this hour?" he mumbled to himself. He reached his bed side table and grabbed his phone. Flipping it open he said harshly into the receiver, "Yes?"

_"James?"_

He froze.

That voice.

It wasn't possible.

The line went dead.

-

Outside it was freezing.

Inside it wasn't much better.

It was Christmas Eve and outside the residents were braving the cold to attend Midnight mass at the local Church. No snow fell from the heavens but an icy wind rushed through the narrow streets, and fog appeared when people breathed. It was one of the coldest winters in memory, one that could freeze your very bones.

Alisa Rosso was pulling on her old coat as she watched her 'daughter', glancing nervously at the clock. If they didn't hurry soon they may be late for Mass and Alisa had never been late in all her seventy-one years. She had told her 'daughter' to call the 'man' tomorrow but the young woman had insisted, pleading with her watery gray eyes.

Alisa couldn't say no to her. There was something about the young woman that reminded Alisa of her own deceased daughter. Maybe it was the dark long hair, or the petite features, or the simple grace, elegance and darkness that this woman carried with her – Alisa wasn't sure but it was something nonetheless. This young woman was no blood relation of Alisa's but that didn't matter. She needed protection and guidance, something that Alisa had never had the opportunity to give her own child.

A little over four months ago this woman had appeared in the depths of the night. If it hadn't been for Alisa's sore hip she would have never awoken to see the young woman stumbling through the streets wearing nothing more than a thin jacket. Without a moment's notice she had ushered the poor child into her small cafe and upstairs into her personal quarters.

The girl's ebony hair had hung loose, her face sunken, eyes hollow and devoid of emotion. She had been incredibly thin and Alisa had briefly wondered if she had risen from the death and was a demon of the night.

It soon became clear that the woman was English and spoke limited Italian, though it was enough for a basic conversation to occur. The woman claimed she was 'Stephanie Broadchest' but refused to continue. Alisa immediately knew that she was lying but decided not to press at the time seeing how fragile Stephanie was.

It took a week of solid rest and warm meals for Stephanie to start to live again. Alisa had asked if she wanted to go to an Embassy but Stephanie had flat out refused. It didn't come as a shock since when Alisa had mentioned taking her to a hospital Stephanie had reacted in a similar fashion.

Alisa had wondered if she was on the run from the law but when asked Stephanie had shook her head and said in a hushed voice, "They'll find me if I go there or he will," and then had started to cry as she stared out the top-story window and across the street.

They could have been many things. She believed it wasn't the police and knew it was something much worse. The image of demons and Satan himself had burned into her mind as she looked at the poor child and immediately she had hurried off to discuss her fears with her local priest. He would know if Stephanie was at risk from such fiends.

Father Marco went to meet Stephanie and after a lengthy discussion he had assured Alisa that this was a test from God, that it was clearly Alisa's duty to give the girl guidance and save her from the fiery reaches of Hell. He said to continue to pray and treat her as her own.

Alisa had taken the job to heart and dedicated all her free time in the last four months to helping Stephanie and in turn Stephanie had helped around the flat and the cafe. They rarely spoke, a simple silence between them as they worked.

As the time passed though it became clear that Alisa wasn't only looking after Stephanie. She could still remember the furious conversation when the two women had realised. It was horribly like the time Alisa's own daughter had shown up except this time Alisa had held in her slight disgust. Clearly this is what had been haunting Stephanie and now more than ever Alisa knew she had to support her.

"Di chi e`?" she had asked, gesturing to Stephanie's stomach. Stephanie sat on the couch, staring blankly at her feet, back hunched over. _– "Whose is it?"_

"Suo," she had said, "E` suo," _– "His. Its his"_

She had looked up Alisa, tears brimming from her eyes.

"Volevamo andare via a vela," she had said, "Mi amava. Mi amava. E ho rotto il suo cuore," _- "We were going to sail, going to run away. He loved me. He loved me. And I broke his heart,"_

After that it began to make sense. Alisa saw that Stephanie was running from a powerful man, a charmer, a killer, whom she had betrayed in some way. She asked no more, and life went on as usual. Every night she prayed for Stephanie's soul, for the unborn babe's soul, and that this demon, this man, never found them.

Her prayers must have been answered because they lived in peace.

Until tonight at least, when Stephanie had decided to call him on a whim. Alisa was fearful, wondering how this man would react, but she understood. He did have a right to know, and the child had a right to have a father.

She had watched as Stephanie had slowly entered the number. Her own stomach felt like a knot had been tied and she could only wonder how the young woman was feeling. She heard a harsh voice come from the other line and watched as Stephanie had said, "James?"

And hung up.

Now Stephanie just sat there. Alisa wasn't sure what to say so she decided to get ready for Mass. She always preferred to be doing something rather than nothing. It made more sense. She pulled on her winter things and watched the young woman for a moment.

"Tempo di andare a messa?" asked Stephanie in a hollow voice. _– "Time for Mass?"_

"Si,"

"Prendo il mio capotto." –_ "I'll grab my coat."_

-

James stood there, the phone still against his ear, in complete and utter shock.

That voice – the voice of an angel, of a devil, the voice of his former lover. He knew it was her even though she had only said his name. It was her, it had to be. He wasn't sure how it was possible – she had died. She was dead. But that voice clearly meant she wasn't. No, Vesper Lynd was alive.

He closed his eyes, and ran his mind over Venice, images racing through his mind –

_He could see her as she struggled for air._

_He was shaking her coffin, her cage that was sinking into the Venetian waterway, ready to join god only knows what. He grabbed at the bars shaking them, tugging, willing them to open. He had to get them open. He had too. He had to save her – no he was going to save her. Not saving her wasn't an option and it was never going to become one._

Vesper!

_He was going to save her._

Ves-PER!

_His lungs were screaming for air, the desire to leave the doors and swim to the top was becoming more paramount as he roared her name losing precious air as he did. He twisted and kicked, trying to loosen them up, trying to push them apart. His vision began to cloud, his head bursting with pain. _

_A brief glance up saw metres of water above him and one solid stream of light. His body began to lift as it commanded him to go to the surface and breathe. He shook his head, looked back at her and got back to work._

_His heart was racing, his whole body in a state not far from death. He felt a rush of emotions, his gut clenching as she watched him, those eyes, those hands, begging for him to come. He had to get her out. This wasn't going to end like this._

VESPER!

_This was far from over._

_He roared her name again, and again. His hands grappled at the elevator door and with screaming muscles he gave one last tug, one last push, his eyes only briefly leaving her. As he pulled his shoulder blades pulled together, his muscles tensing, a small gap began to form in the cage._

VES-per!

_He reached forward, but that sudden movement and suddenly the desire to breathe overpowered everything else. He needed oxygen, he needed air, he was going to get – NO! He looked back at Vesper who seemed to still be holding on and took a tentative swim towards her._

_His lungs screamed, begged for air and he couldn't fight it anymore. His body began to float upwards, his mind numbing. He felt his vision cloud, and he shut his eyes tight and started to kick. He opened them and cried her name as the cage went further away._

_He couldn't hold on, the pressure, it was all too much, he was –_

_Clenching his teeth, his body rose to the surface, and as he neared it he gave one last kick. His head burst out of the water and he instantly sucked in air, his chest heaving, his mind still feeling muddled and dizzy._

_He gripped onto the sunken building and stole a few quick breaths before diving back down, praying that somehow she was still there, waiting for him, and very much alive._

_As he dived down though he never saw the dark-haired head that burst to the surface, didn't hear her gasp for air, or see her swim to the canal edge and stagger to her feet, He saw none of this and as he dived he could no longer see the elevator._

_With a heavy heart he went back to the light, to air, and to the surface._

-And he realised that he had never actually seen her corpse. He had spent the last five months telling himself that she was dead – she should be dead. She couldn't be alive – but the phone call, that God damn phone call!

His eyes snapped open.

"Christ!" he swore, breaking from his stance and discarding the mobile. He glared at it, hating it for ruining his clear outlook on the future, for bringing back the past.

James called back the number, praying she picked up but got no answer.

He massaged his temples and bit his lip. Vesper was alive...so he had to find her. He could trace the call from Mi6 HQ and then hightail to wherever the hell she was. Yep, he'd do that and then – then what? Fuck this was complicated.

James staggered over to his wardrobe to grab some clothes for the trip but with each step the pounding in his head that had been paramount before returned. He sighed. Whatever he was going to do would have to wait until tomorrow.

He went back to his bed and sunk onto it, stretching out. His eyes closed, and eventually the sound of his neighbours began to fade...

...James awoke in a curled up ball to the sound of beeping. **_Beep, beep, beep_** – every minute or so. He knew he had to get up – but to do what? He groaned as the beeping continued, willing it to stop. He just wanted to sleep, wanted to rest.

**_Beep, beep, beep!_**

Phones, why did it always have to be a call or a text or something to interrupt his rest – Vesper!

He cursed. He started to open his eyes, grateful that his curtains blocked out the outside light. He sat up slowly, breathing in deeply. He ran his tongue around his mouth and gagged. Damn his mouth tasted disgusting...

Note to self – avoid drinking yourself to death on Christmas Eve.

His head was still hurting but he ignored the temptation to lie back down. He grabbed his phone and grimaced. It was a quarter past eight. How long had he slept? Bout nine hours or so and he still felt like crap.

**_Beep, beep, beep!_**

He looked through the messages – of which there were four; one from Alec Trevelyan wishing Merry Christmas, another simular one from Tanner, same message again from an old school mate, and one from the woman who lived in the apartment above asking if he wanted to come over and celebrate New Year's Eve with her.

He deleted them all and headed straight to the shower. The water was freezing when he turned it on but he greeted it. He washed himself, and quickly turned off the water, his head feeling considerably clearer. He brushed his teeth and shaved.

He stared at the mirror, taking in the black tiling behind him, the crisp white bathtub that he seldom used, the towel racks and his own face. He looked almost the same as he had before he had been promoted as a double-O and yet he could see a new weariness that had appeared. He looked more like Alec, and the other double-O's in a strange sense.

He left his bathroom and quickly changed into a fresh polo shirt and jeans. He packed a rough overnight bag, heading back into the bathroom to grab his toiletries as well as get his passport which lay hidden behind his mirror.

He also grabbed an aspirin and then headed into his kitchen. The moment he left his bedroom the light engulfed him. He rubbed his eyes and opened them slightly. He went to his fridge, grabbed some fruit, poured himself a glass of water and then left his apartment.

It was a quick drive to Mi6 headquarters which masqueraded itself as Universal Exports and once his security clearance was checked he headed straight in. The building was almost silent as he went in, with only a few employees still working away to keep Britain safe.

His heart was racing slightly as he wandered the halls, occasionally stopping to talk to a co-worker. He couldn't care less about the holiday greetings – he just wanted to get up to his office and think. He reached the elevator and shot in, shutting the doors with a slight smirk as he saw someone racing to catch it.

He reached his floor and headed off to the Double-O section. Entering an unmarked white door, he came to into the large reception area. The room was painted a rich golden colour and had deep red carpet with two old couches beside a fake pot plant to the right, his sectary's rather modern desk, filing cabinets and computer to his left, a corridor which led to the offices straight ahead and various paintings and wall ornaments hanging on the wall. It looked disgusting in James' opinion, a mismatch of styles and textures and yet it showed so much change. This hadn't always been the Double-O section – it had once been the Red Indian section before the current head of Mi6 had taken over eleven years ago. The room held a sense of legacy and power.

James walked briskly to his office and went inside, dumping his bag on the ground. He hadn't properly used his office since being promoted. It felt empty, disconnected – he almost wished he still had his old slightly smaller office down below instead of the larger Double-O office. Since he had gotten back from Russia M had given him a month off, assigning other agents to track down Quantum as well as dealing with the mess he had caused. Her words were "finish the bloody paperwork at home Bond, and then stay there,"

James started up his laptop, leaning back in his chair and looking at his phone. He stomach felt like it was knotted. A strong part of him wanted it to really be here, but another part didn't want it. He could easily just walk away...but he couldn't. He had to know for sure.

He logged into the network and began to search.

-

**Author's Note:** I hope you enjoyed that and that it made sense and all...


	2. Part II

**Ghost**

**Author's Note:**I just wrote this and I'm sorry for the gap in updates. On another note as I just wrote this it has not been beta'd and some of the dialogue is meant to be Italian but I having had it translated yet so until I re-upload the Italian phrases any spoken Italian will appear like this _"How could you?"_. I hope you enjoy this and feel free to share your thoughts on how this is going and all.

-

The moment Vesper Lynd excused herself from the table to go to the bathroom she headed upstairs through the tiny kitchen and to the spare room where she had been living. It took her only a few minutes to pack her few belongings into a cotton shoulder bag, grab the money she had hidden, and change into something a little more practical for running away.

Her stomach was twisting uneasily as she thought of Alisa downstairs and her friends. She didn't want to lie, she didn't want to leave and in theory deceive Alisa after everything she had done to help Vesper but she knew that James was going to be here soon.

She wanted to see him, she really did. But she couldn't take it. She was running, again. She wanted to be able to just stay here and wait it out. Wait for him. But knowing that those loving blue eyes would be full of anger, be void of emotion, it terrified her.

He would be angry at her, would hate her. Maybe he would still love her...maybe. But she also realised that she was a traitor to her country and that he may bring her in. She couldn't let that happen. If she wasn't pregnant she may have handed herself in ages ago but with his child...no she was going to raise her child if it was the last thing she did.

She wasn't being rational, she knew that much, but at the moment getting away from here seemed right.

Warm laughter seeped through the wooden floorboards from downstairs. The twist in her stomach seemed to create an extra knot. She felt slightly sick. She could wait, should also properly say goodbye to Alisa instead of just leaving in the middle of Christmas lunch without a word. But no - she should just leave it - it was like ripping of a band aid, the wuoicker the less painful.

With a heavy heart she scribbled a quick note, thanking the older woman for everything, before she slung her bag over her shoulder and snuck out the back door and into the cold.

-

She heard the door creak open.

And then she heard it squeak as it closed.

Alisa Rossa sat at the large wooden table, surrounded by some of her oldest friends – friends who now all lived alone as their children, nieces and nephews braved the new world. She was half way through a large bowl of pasta that she and Stephanie had made from scratch, listing to Romeo's tales about his granddaughter who was studying abroad when she heard the door.

It wasn't a loud sound, just one she noticed after years of living in this house. Her mind immediately flickered to Stephanie excusing herself from the table and then it was like her stomach dropped. Her mouth felt dry, her eyes wide.

"Excuse me," she said, standing up. She left the table and wove her way through the other tables and to the kitchen. Entering she passed the old stove, and bench and into a small hallway which had a spiral staircase at one end and led to the back door at the other.

She stood there for a moment, listening carefully for the flush of the toilet or for a sound from upstairs. Just something to tell her that Stephanie was still here. She heard none. The phone call... the man whom she was running from... no, she couldn't have run – could she?

Alisa rushed towards the back door and flung it open. She scanned up and down the alleyway, her heart racing; her old eyes straining against the darkness that was quickly claiming her town as the night wielded her mighty shadow against the rays of the sun.

In the distance she saw a solitary figure against the last rays of sun, trudging slowly down the street. Alisa instantly cried out Stephanie's name and figure froze. The only sounds around them were laughter and chatter from other houses, animals howling or snuffling about, and that shout that seemed to echo.

Alisa hobbled up to Stephanie, who remained still; upon reaching Stephanie the two women faced each other: Alisa began chastising the young woman for her foolishness while Stephanie stood like a small child, eyes teary.

_"Why?"_ asked Alisa shrilly, _"How could you risk your child?! It is cold! The disregard you have for yourself is another matter but to place his young soul at risk? Before he can even breathe and be loved by his mama?"_

_"He'll find me…he'll…"_ she stammered.

_"And we'll protect you,"_ said Alisa firmly, _"My friends consider you family,"_ she pointed to Stephanie and back to herself, _"family."_

_"Protect…"_ said Stephanie softly, _"Alisa you don't understand –"_

_"He is dangerous – yes?"_

Stephanie gave a nod. _"He wouldn't…but the people who could follow…"_

Alisa sighed and shook her head, _"If you must leave please wait until we can make the proper arrangements – please be sensible,"_

She hated saying the words because having Stephanie leave would reopen those old wounds that had started to heal. She didn't want to lose another daughter but she knew she couldn't force Stephanie to stay. No, she had to keep her here for another few days, try and talk sense…and then she could talk to Gene, her old friend, about Stephanie living with him in Greece. She would be safe there.

Alisa watched Stephanie's face trying to gauge her response. At long last she nodded and the weight on Alisa's heart lessened; only sightly.

-

Finding her hadn't been an issue.

It had only taken a number of minutes to find her and discover that Vesper was in the Italian town of Spinea using the landline phone of an Alisa Rosso who lived above her small cafe. But he had had to move fast. He suspected she was staying near there and that she would probably move soon. That call would have been strictly impulsive.

She could be waiting for him and then again she could believe that he had never connected her to the phone call but he seriously doubted that. Vesper was smart. She would know he would connect the dots. The question was if she really wanted to be found or not. And by the sound of her voice and the abrupt call she most likely didn't want to be found.

He had just arrived in Rome and it was midnight on Christmas Day. There were very few flights running but James had managed to get a seat. The flight had been uneventful and James had spent it with his eyes closed, listening to the voices on the in flight movie; his thoughts on Vesper. Once the plane landed he quickly passed through Customs and headed towards the closest Rent-A-Car, shouldering his bag as he walked briskly through the airport.

He looked around the baggage claim area as he waited, noticing the various exit points. The German couple in front of him finished the paperwork and walked towards the carpale The moment the attendant called "Next" he almost leaped formed, eager to get to Spinea and hopefully her.

Once the paperwork was completed James took off, ignoring the cold and his fatigue He hopped into the car and navigated his way out of the airport and settled in for the five hour drive, along the Italian countryside; praying that she was still there.

-

Mr White was reading through Bram Stroker's _Dracula_ when one of his employees notified him that James Bond had just arrived in Rome. After his last encounter with the hot headed Double-O Mr White had taken the precaution to know every single thing about his enemy, including putting traces on all his passports and cards.

He had to admire Mi6's head for the way she was handling Quantum: though trying to ferret out every single spy was kind of pointless, and for also keeping Bond locked up for a month of 'rest and recreation'. This had given Quantum a little extra time to clean up some 'loose-ends'.

Upon hearing Bond was in Rome, he immediately stopped reading. He strolled to his window and glanced over the city of Rome, wondering if Bond had tracked him down. He needed to know if Bond was here on 'Quantum business' or some other mission.

He packed his bags and organised to be driven to France as well as informing his men to find out what the hell Bond was doing in Rome – and fast.

-

Alisa heard her doorbell ring.

Alisa awoke from her the depths of her slumber, and sat up. She heard the floorboards creaking in Stephanie's room and alarm bells went off in her head. She clambered out of bed; walking into the living room she saw Stephanie standing by the staircase, biting her lip.

The doorbell rang again, and Stephanie's words echoed in her head.

"It's him?" whispered Alisa fearfully, confused as to how he had actually found them. It was like something out of the those spy films that

Stephanie nodded.

"Stay here, I'll –"

"I can do this," said Stephanie softly, "I have too,"

-

He stood impatiently by the front door of Alisa Rosso's café.

It was about six in the morning; James Bond was psychically and emotionally exhausted after the five hour drive from Rome; the only thing that had kept him going was his desire to know, to know if she was here, and alive and most importantly safe.

He heard movement upstairs; fighting the urge to yawn. He bit his tongue hoping the pain would jerk him awake. It didn't, just made his tongue throb slightly. He sighed, running his hand through his hair; seriously considering if he should just kick the door down.

The movement was coming closer and he breathed deeply. It was a matter of seconds, of moments. He wished that the curtains hadn't been drawn so that he could see; he shifted to the side trying to see through a small gap between the curtains that hid the inside.

His heart jumped as a key entered a lock.

And when the door opened; he saw her; his heart stopped.

**_TBC_**


	3. Part III

**Author's Notes:** I am terribly sorry for the lack of updates. I just simply had no motivation to write this - everytime I tried I would just freeze up. I hate forcing myself to write so i just opted not too. Anyway today I wrote down this. This is more of a filler but it has allowed me to break out of my little block so I'm currently working on the next part. I hope you enjoy this little fillers. Remember any thoughts or comments are greatly appreciated.

Also this hasn't been beta'd.

Now onto...

**Ghost - Part III**

She was alive.

James could see the bags under her eyes, her tangled ebony locks, her fearful gray eyes, her pale alabaster skin, and he could hear her soft breaths, see her chest raise in the simple motion, see how she shivered against the cold. He could see her; alive; no longer as a figment of his nightmares, of his mind.

She wasn't the same Vesper he had left behind in Venice, left behind after finding Yusef in Russia, after dropping her necklace in the fresh white snow. That Vesper, even in her weakest moments had radiated a raw strength, a power that had held a spell over him – enchanted him, bewitched his heart. This Vesper was colder, and more vulnerable…he couldn't see that same spark. This was a broken woman.

He knew this since she was still here.

His Vesper would've run.

And he wouldn't have found her and he would've been okay with that; since this woman was a ghost of her former self.

This woman was broken and older.

But this was still his Vesper deep down, because as continued to stare into her hollow gray eyes, he saw a brief flicker; a flicker of strength…and protection…for something? Maybe this was the same Vesper, maybe he was wrong in his first assumption. His gaze followed her eyes brief glance downwards, and swore.

He wasn't sure how he had missed it – but the shock of seeing…

"I'm sorry." She said simply, hands resting on her stomach.

He opened his mouth but uttered no words as his hands crept forward. The moment his hands touched her own, he felt her quiver, felt his spine tingle. He closed his eyes, resting his hands on her womb, stomach churning as her hands rested on his, warm and ready to rip him to pieces if he made one move against her child.

His icy blue eyes snapped open and he murmured, "Is it…?"

"I'm sure of it,"

"Fuck Vesper," he said loudly, withdrawing his hands; swallowing deeply.

"That's how it happened," she muttered in a dry tone.

James' stomach twisted.

She sighed, "I shouldn't have called,"

"I'm glad you did," said James sharply, "I only wish you had done it sooner."

She sighed and turned slightly, "Why don't we continue this inside?"

He nodded.

-

Joseph Andreas kept to the shadows as he stalked through the streets of Spinea.

He had followed the British agent from Rome, making sure to keep a fair distance as to not alert Bond to his actions. According to his employer, Mr White, Bond was not someone to mess with and that it was highly important that if he was to follow in complete and utter secrecy – be invisible.

So far he had achieved that.

When he had seen Bond park his car and he had driven out of the street before quickly heading back to the agent's car, using the darkness to mask his movements. Luckily Bond hadn't gone far, only about two hundred metres and seemed clearly seemed distracted as he didn't seem to notice the Quantum agent.

As Bond knocked on the door of what looked like a small café Joseph slipped inside a doorway thankful for the lack of street lights. He hugged himself, fighting back the shivers as the coldness of the night gripped him to his core.

The café door opened, a small ray of light enveloping Bond and Joseph's eyes narrowed as he saw a dark-haired woman greet Bond. Frowning, he took out his phone wanting to take a photo but the light was far too poor that it wasn't worth it.

He slinked forward from his hiding place, praying that the woman couldn't see him, grateful that the British agent's back was turned. He couldn't make a sound – a single sound, in this place, on this silent night would not bode well. However as he proceeded on, he froze, ears picking up the conversation between Bond and the woman. He frowned, his mind scrambling over what was said. Vesper, the woman was called Vesper – wait surely this was not the Vesper from the Le Chriffe business?

Bond and Vesper?

Joseph had only heard rumours (which there weren't many off) of what had occurred during the Le Chriffe business. If this was the same Vesper – which seemed highly probable as Vesper wasn't exactly a common name.

But wasn't she dead? That's what he had heard, but then again all he had going was rumours…nothing more.

He continued to listen, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the two carefully. That's when he noticed it – either the woman was fat or -? Suddenly Bond was pulled into the café, and he quickly moved away, seeking distance so that he could call White and remain unheard. He found a spot further up the street, where he could still see the café but would be safe and crouched down.

Joseph pulled out his phone and dialled White's number.

"_Andreas?"_

It wasn't White – Joseph instantly recognised the voice as White's other guard, Boris, a large former-KGB agent with a nasty right hook.

"White," said Joseph not seeking to waste time.

A few seconds past and –

"_What is happening?"_

"Suspect has travelled to Spinea, Italy. He has just entered a small café by the looks of it however due to poor lightening I cannot be sure,"

"_Is that all? Speak quickly,"_

"No, sir," said Joseph, "He met someone – I believe its Vesper Lynd,"

Silence followed.

Joseph's stomach twisted slightly and he said quickly, "I heard a brief conversation between her and Bond outside the café before they entered the premises – he said her name – and I thought…"

More silence.

"Sir…?"

"_Are you sure?"_

"As sure as I can be,"

"_Find out and report back to me tomorrow morning at nine hundred hours,"_ ordered Mr. White.

"Yes, sir," he paused drawing a quick breath "One more thing also -"

"_What?"_

"I think she's pregnant,"

He heard an intake breath on the other end of the line.

"_I don't what assumptions – I want confirmation – understand?"_

"Yes, sir,"

Mr White ended the call and Joseph crept forward, determined to find some way to listen in on whatever was happening in that café.

**_TBC_**


End file.
